25
TREVOR
He made Jay swallow enough pills to knock him out cold on the examination chair. Seeing that wild man bound and defeated was a sight to behold, and Trevor enjoyed beholding.
Back upstairs, Daniel sat on the couch in the living room, shirtless with his hands tied behind his back. The fireplace spread cozy warmth across the room, reminding Trevor of long-ago winter days when his parents and brother would watch TV together. He’d always known they were all messed up in different ways, but those rare moments made them feel almost like a normal family.
“I’m hungry,” Andy said.
“Yeah, I hear you. Let me get Daniel here wasted, then I’ll go grab something to eat.”
“You don’t need me wasted. I gave you what you wanted.”
Trevor sat next to him, pulling him close. “You still don’t get it?”
“What don’t I get?”
Trevor took the bottle of vodka from the table. “Take a sip, then I’ll tell you.”
Daniel reluctantly complied. Only after he’d drunk a considerable amount, Trevor placed the bottle back on the table and leaned back on the couch. “I need you dead, Danny boy. I don’t want to, obviously, but what else am I supposed to do?”
“Maybe not be a fucking murderer.”
“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”
“You want me to drink heavily for the autopsy. That’s also why you’re careful about leaving bruises.”
Trevor smiled. “How did you get to be both smart and sexy?”
“People are not as dumb as you think.”
He cocked his head. “Aren’t they, though?”
“No. Your mother raised you to think you’re something special, but you’re not. I have no reason to take my own life, and you have every reason to want me dead. Can you get away with my murder? Maybe. Will it raise enough suspicion to make a judge not give you the inheritance? You bet your ass it will. Can you even picture Andy surviving a police interrogation? He’ll tell them everything in a minute.”
Trevor’s heart drummed faster. It wasn’t like him to let people’s opinions get under his skin, but Daniel had hit all the right spots.
He’s speaking out of his ass, a desperate man trying to stay alive.
But he’s a lawyer. He should know a thing or two about how these things work.
Trevor shook his head, shoving away the voices of doubt. It was too late to give up now. He grabbed Daniel’s jaw, forcing him to look into his eyes. “How about you keep your legal advice to yourself and let me handle things, okay?”
Cold determination flashed in Daniel’s eyes, as to be expected of a man with nothing to lose. “Your brother will go to prison. You hear me, Andy? You’re going to be locked in a small cell with people who will beat the shit out of you every single day. There will be no Trevor to protect you, no comic books to read, and no fucking Doritos!”
Trevor glanced at Andy, who’d turned pale as a piece of paper. “Don’t listen to him.”
“But Daniel’s smart. You always said that.” Andy’s chin quivered. “I don’t want to go to prison, Trevor!”
“I won't ever let that happen. He’s just talking shit.”
“I’m not! Andy, listen—”
Trevor growled and climbed on top of Daniel, slapping him as hard as he could. “I don’t want to leave bruises, but a few slaps should be fine.”
With his hands tied behind his back, Daniel could do nothing but yell and squirm as Trevor landed more and more slaps across his unprotected face. It felt good, felt liberating, and damn if he didn’t deserve it for scaring Andy.
“Trevor, you should stop.”
With his hand raised, he craned his head at Andy. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m hungry, and you said we shouldn’t leave marks on Daniel.”
The unexpected display of common sense made Trevor stop. He got up, leaving Daniel’s face with bright red marks, but those should likely pass before his upcoming demise.
Trevor reached for the half-empty bottle of vodka. “Finish this up so I get us some food.”
Daniel turned his head away, his jaw set.
“Come on, you know you had it coming. Open your—”
“Trevor, what are these lights?”
“Which lights?” He looked around and almost dropped the bottle. Blue and red lights shone through the window, illuminating the walls. He could hear the approaching car, but the siren was off. Still, this was one hundred percent a police car driving closer, and there was no other place for it to drive toward.
Fuck me sideways.
He put the bottle on the table, then jumped to his feet facing Andy. “You and Daniel get into the basement.” He picked up Daniel’s gun from the small cabinet next to the couch and gave it to Andy. “Aim it at him at all times.”
“I never used a gun!”
“It’s just like in the movies; you point and squeeze the trigger. But only use it if he tries to attack you or escape. Best to hit him in the head with it instead.”
“Help!”
Trevor jumped on Daniel and slapped his hand over his mouth. Outside, the police car parked, the blue and red lights filling the house and making Trevor dizzy. His heart drummed hard enough to hurt. He spotted one of his shirts on the floor next to the couch. While still blocking Daniel’s mouth with one hand, he stretched and picked up the shirt, then swiftly shoved it deep into Daniel’s mouth, getting a nasty bite in the process.
He pulled Daniel to his feet and dragged him toward the basement. “Help me get him downstairs, but be careful with the gun.”
Daniel fought wildly next to the basement door, screaming through his gag and trying to kick them.
The blue and red lights vanished. An icy grip of terror tightened around Trevor's lungs. The cops would be here any second, and perhaps have already heard the ruckus. With no other option, he smashed his fist against the side of Daniel’s head, unintentionally sending him flying down the stairs. It happened too fast for Trevor to reach out and catch him. With his hands tied behind his back, Daniel had no way of stopping the fall or protecting himself. By the time he hit the ground, he was unconscious. Maybe dead.
“Shit.” Trevor hurried Andy inside. “Take care of him and make sure none of you make a sound. I’m counting on you.” He shut the door and dragged the nearby closet to cover the entrance.
A firm knock on the front door dropped his heart to the floor. He collected himself and put on a forced smile as he went to greet his guests.
*
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but we got a complaint about a possible crime that might be taking place in this location.” The policeman was as tall as Trevor and stockier, his face plain yet his eyes sharp. His nametag read Gary Johnson.
Trevor frowned. “Here? Weird. What sort of crime?”
“A possible kidnapping and captivity, sir,” the policewoman said. Her nametag read Jane Hart. She was pretty and short, her face on the pointy side. Something about her demeanor and stiff posture made Trevor more concerned about her than Officer Johnson.
He snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Afraid not.” Officer Johnson’s voice was as deep as the bottom of a barrel. “Mind if we take a look around?” He began entering before Trevor could even respond.
“Sure.” He closed the door behind them, hoping he wasn’t as pale as he felt.
While their snooping eyes darted around the house, Trevor did the same, looking for anything incriminating he may still be able to hide. He had zero time to clean up before those two came.
“Who called you?” Trevor asked casually as they looked around the living room after finishing with the two small bedrooms.
“Afraid we can’t disclose that,” Officer Hart said. “Are you here alone, sir?”
“Yep. On my lonesome.”
“Mind if I ask why?” Officer Hart crossed her arms. “I was born around these parts, and I never knew there was a house out here. No other property for miles around.”
“I was looking for some quiet and solitude when I rented this place. I’m working on a book.”
“A writer, huh?” Officer Johnson sounded like Trevor was a charlatan, which was both true and rude.
“Well, I haven’t published anything yet, but hopefully soon. The plot is coming along nicely.”
Officer Johnson went to check on the closet that hid the basement entrance. Trevor held his breath, his skin growing hot.
Keep a straight face.
Officer Johnson opened the closet doors, eyeing the bare shelves with a twist of his lips. Maybe an empty closet at the center of the house was suspicious. Trevor hadn’t thought of that.
A few seconds later, the officer shut the closet doors and walked away. Trevor allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief.
“So, you claim you don’t own this place?” Officer Hart asked.
“That is indeed my claim.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Mitchell?” She came to stand in front of him, a bit too close, somehow looking taller than she had a minute ago.
“I’m sorry, who?”
“Aren’t you Trevor Mitchell?” She sounded like it was a rhetorical question.
He wondered who had called the cops on him. Clearly someone connected to Daniel, someone who knew Trevor’s name, and even more worrying—the location of this house. Trevor had never been involved in any of his father’s businesses, but he knew that Robert had kept this house very hush-hush, embarrassed by investing in such a failed location, yet failing to sell it.
“Sir, I asked if you are Trevor Mitchell.”
On the other side of the living room, Officer Johnson searched behind the couch, as if a grown-ass man might be hiding in that narrow gap.
My taxpayer money is going down the drain. Although he couldn’t remember ever paying taxes.
“I’m not Trevor Mitchell, ma’am. I rented this house through Airbnb.” He hoped and prayed that she wouldn’t check for a listing because she wouldn’t find a thing.
By the way she watched him with an arched eyebrow, she may as well have said, liar, liar, pants on fire. “Mind showing me an ID?”
“ID? Hmm, sure. I just need to find my wallet.”
“It’s a small place,” Officer Johnson said, “I’m sure you can find it.”
While Trevor went to look for his wallet in the bedroom, Officer Hart called, “Are there any other rooms in this house? A basement, maybe?”
“Not that I’m aware of. As Officer Johnson said, it’s a small place.”
He found his wallet in the jeans he'd worn yesterday and pulled it out. Once he returned to the living room, he froze. Snoopy Officer Johnson was in the middle of taking out Dima’s gun from the cabinet next to the couch. Trevor had recklessly kept both Dima’s and Daniel’s guns in there. Thank God he’d given one of them to Andy, because explaining bringing two guns to a vacation was too much even for his smooth tongue.
“Is this yours?” Officer Johnson asked.
“It is. Staying by myself out here can be dangerous.”
“This is a serious pistol.”
“It’s a dangerous world. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”
Officer Johnson put the gun back in the cabinet, and Officer Hart took a step toward Trevor. “ID, please.”
He opened his wallet and plucked out the ID. The officer took it and narrowed her eyes as she scanned the card. When she looked up at his face, Trevor kept his expression natural, but underneath his skin, anxiety brewed.
“Mr. Young?”
Trevor nodded. “That’s me.”
“Jacob Young?”
“Still me.”
She glanced once more at his fake ID, as if another look might change the name on the card. He had been carrying that fake thing for years, ever since he needed more prescriptions for drugs. If the officers were to check on the ID, they wouldn’t find anything suspicious; he’d gotten it from a professional. Thank God he had brought it with him.
Officer Johnson came closer to look, his eyes moving from the ID to Trevor. “Interesting.”
Trevor wondered if those two were fucking. If he were to sniff Officer Johnson’s fingers, would he smell Officer Hart?
“Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee maybe? I feel bad that someone wasted your time.”
The officers exchanged looks, both not pleased. With some reservation, Officer Hart handed Trevor back his fake ID.
“That’s a no on the drinks,” Officer Johnson said and turned to his partner. “The place is clean—well, not clean, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. You sure there’s no basement here, sir? A shed, maybe?”
Trevor frowned. “There was no mention of that on the website. Should I help you look?”
“No need.” Officer Hart glanced at her watch. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to set you up, Mr. Young?”
“Hmm, nope, can’t think of anyone. You’re sure I can’t get you some coffee?” He didn’t even have coffee, but pressing the matter would make them leave faster. Even police officers didn’t like refusing hospitality too many times.
“We’ll be leaving,” Officer Johnson said. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”
Trevor watched them walk toward the entrance door, holding back a smile.
Before she could reach the exit, Officer Hart glanced at the closet that hid the basement door.
Trevor clenched his fists. If she were to check more thoroughly than her partner, he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of this. He would need to reach for the gun in the cabinet and shoot them, but the officers were closer to their guns than he was to his.
As it happened, God was smiling down on him, proving that the Almighty was a shitty judge of character.
Officer Hart kept walking toward the exit without double-checking the closet. “Good luck with your book,” she said and glanced back. “What is it about, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Trevor crossed his arms. “It’s a thriller. A story about a rather unique family. Very intense. Gets a bit gruesome at times.”
Officer Hart made a face, as though she wouldn’t be picking it up in a bookstore. “Well, I hope there’s a happy ending, at least.”
Trevor smiled. “Depends on whom you’re rooting for.”